


The Lion Sleeps

by DGCatAniSiri



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DGCatAniSiri/pseuds/DGCatAniSiri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor and Cullen are quite fond of one another. It could almost be said to be like magic...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Though they’d held Skyhold for some time now, Cullen still found himself getting confused about its layout. Sometimes he wondered where Solas had learned of this place, given the state it had been in when the Inquisition had arrived. They had made repairs, but that had mostly been in the areas that would see the most use – clearing rubble, patching the worst of the collapses, refortifying the hold’s defenses. But that meant there were several areas of Skyhold that Cullen had yet to travel. One wrong turn and he found himself in the lower dining hall under the main chamber of Skyhold. 

Fortunately, he believed the lower hall connected to the kitchens, and those were right below the tower he’d claims as his chambers. As he moved, though, he noticed a light spilling into the hall from the closed door across from the staircase. Though of course no one was denied the use of these areas, to the best of Cullen’s knowledge, most of the Inquisition had found areas of Skyhold that suited them and spent much of their time there.

He gently pushed on the door, which opened at his touch, revealing the Inquisitor, Malcolm Trevalyen, who looked up from the book he was reading. “Inquisitor. My apologies for the interruption.”

The dark haired mage was already waving him off. “No need, Cullen. You’re not intruding. I just wanted to do some reading, and it was... rather loud upstairs. Remind me again why we allowed Leliana to house her crows above the library?”

“I don’t recall her giving us the opportunity for constructive criticism,” Cullen said with a gentle laugh. 

Malcolm smiled, sliding a bookmark into the dusty tome he’d been reading and pulled himself out of the chair. “So what brings you down into these dusty old chambers, Commander?”

“I was delivering a report to Josephine, regarding some overtures she’s made to what few templars fled from Lord Seeker Lambert’s alliance with Corypheus, the ones who survived Therinfal Redoubt. I’m... afraid the results were not what I was hoping for.” What few members of the Order had managed to escape the grisly fate of becoming one of Corypheus’s disfigured red lyrium abominations were in no condition to take their swords up at this point. Most needed many weeks of bed rest, even with magical assistance to speed up their healing. Even if they wished to join the Inquisitor, most were in no condition to make the trip to Skyhold.

Regretfully, Malcolm looked away from Cullen at that. “I’m sorry, Cullen. I know you would have preferred we ally with the Order-”

“There is nothing to apologize for, Inquisitor. Your decision to aid the mages at Redcliffe was sound. In hindsight, I believe it may even have been the better decision. Knowing what Alexius intended had he been allowed to continue... I may regret having failed to save so many templars from Corypheus’s clutches, but that doesn’t mean that you acted wrongly.” Although Cullen had been disappointed, even somewhat frustrated with Trevalyan’s decision to give the Inquisition’s aid to the mages who’d so foolishly allied with Tevinter magisters, he knew in his heart that it had been the wise decision. Although he’d advocated allying with the templars, he knew his arguments of the tempalrs being able to suppress the Breach had been more speculation and hope than anything. The mages had been the correct decision.

Though knowing that hadn’t kept nightmares wearing the faces of his friends within the Order from haunting his dreams in the weeks since that choice had been made.

Malcolm didn’t seem mollified by his words. “Still... How many of the red templars are... WERE men and women you knew? That you called friends?”

“I... had lost most of my friends within the Order before this,” Cullen said simply. Between Uldred’s attempted coup, the uprising in Kirkwall’s Gallows, and the conflict that had ensued afterwards, Cullen’s few friends within the Order had already been whittled down to near zero. Those few who’d been left after all that had likely died in the Conclave. If they had survived to be brought in to the red templars, then they were likely too far gone at this point to ever be saved. Their deaths could only be considered a mercy now.

Malcolm winced, not having wanted to dredge up old ghosts. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well... What’s done is done, I suppose.” Cullen recognized that as a conclusion to what they were discussing, yet he lingered. There was something in the gaze that the Inquisitor was giving him, examining him. “Is... there anything else, Inquisitor?”

“Please, Cullen. We’re not here, talking about the Inquisition. Call me by my name.”

The thought was difficult for Cullen to wrap his head around. So much of his life had been spent in strict hierarchies. There was no room to be so casual, especially with one’s superiors. Still, he wasn’t in those hierarchies now. The Inquisition was a different creature entirely. “I... I will try... Malcolm.” The Inquisitor’s given name was odd on Cullen’s tongue, so used to referring to him as ‘Herald’ or ‘Trevelyan’ or ‘Inquisitor.’ But he couldn’t deny that he’d liked it. It reminded him that the Herald of Andraste, as some called him, was, in the end, human after all. It was something he felt he needed to keep in mind, that it would be easy to forget that the Inquisitor was, despite any lofty title bestowed upon him, still just a man.

Malcolm smiled at the use of his name. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s called me that since I fell from the Breach. It’s refreshing to hear it.”

The room seemed unusually warm all of a sudden. Cullen realized that he was blushing. He cleared his throat. “It, uh... It does occur to me that, although I advocated reaching out to the templars, I never did ask what your experiences with them were.” If the Inquisitor’s time in the Ostwick Circle in any way resembled what had happened in Kirkwall’s, it would explain why he’d ignored even the possibility of an alliance.

The question caused Malcom to hesitate. “It... wasn’t so bad in the Ostwick Circle. The same restrictions were there, obviously, and the Knight-Commander did crack down following... what happened in Kirkwall, but... There was some breathing room. But,,, It wasn’t freedom,” he said. He looked to Cullen, as if waiting for his response.

“A few years ago, I would likely have said that mages didn’t deserve freedom,” Cullen said, in a voice that said plainly that he would gladly have punched that younger version of himself for saying and believing such a thing. “I would have believed that mages needed to understand why they were dangerous, what we templars were guarding against.” He looked back to Malcolm. “And I would have been wrong.”

“Perhaps not entirely. I can’t say I don’t understand why the templars are there. I know the dangers of magic, and I know that there’s plenty to fear from a mage who chooses to abuses these gifts. I just don’t believe that the templars have had mages’ best interests at heart. The few who at least attempted to treat us like people usually ended up transferred to other Circles.” Malcolm recalled some spirited debates between the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander on the subject. They’d never reached the point where the Knight Commander had alluded to wielding the brand as a weapon, but they’d all had it in the back of their minds. The mages were allowed to survive as they did at the sufferance of the templars. Had the templars decided that all mages were ‘too dangerous’ and needed to be made tranquil or their Circles annulled, most of Thedas wouldn’t raise too much of a ruckus. 

Cullen nodded. “Too many of my fellow templars believed that mercy towards mages was a weakness, something to be avoided. It is... my regret that for many years, I was one of those templars.”

“But you aren’t now, Cullen. I consider that progress.” Malcolm gave Cullen a friendly smile at that. “You’ve already come a long way, from what I can tell. While you may have made mistakes, you’re doing what you can now to make amends for them.”

“I... Thank you, Inquisitor. Malcolm.” Cullen hesitated a moment, then cleared his throat. “I should be returning to my duties.”

Malcolm nodded. “Of course, Commander. And, Cullen? I... would like it if we were able to speak more often about things not directly related to the Inquisition.” He gave Cullen a smile, one which Cullen genuinely returned. 

For Cullen, it was odd to consider the fact that he and his commanding officer were friends. But then, the Inquisition held a very different structure than the templars had. 

***

He returned to his room, seeing that there was a tray of food waiting for him. He didn’t know if it was Josephine or Leliana who was responsible for it, as both had commented on his single-minded focus on his duties resulting in him skipping his meals, though looking at it, seeing that it appeared to be more than a basic meal and drink, he assumed it was Josephine’s doing. Leliana’s efforts seemed to stick with ensuring he was fed, not that what he ate actually was worth being called food.

The food was a nice contrast to the mountain of paperwork that also sat on his desk. At least it looked appealing. Cullen had his duties, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel a reluctance to do them at times. And much of the work as Commander of the Inquisition’s forces involved these reports, summarizing clashes with Red Templars or the odd skirmish with the factions of the civil war in Orlais, or just encounters with bandits. The only one of those reports in particular that he had even a passing interest was a report from Rylen on his investigation towards the funding of certain sects of bandits being paid and supplied by some of the Chantry Mothers who opposed the Inquisition, and even that felt mind-numbing at the moment.

He kept at the paperwork for a while, not paying attention to the light from the window until there was a rap at the door. “Cullen?” It was Malcolm. Having announced himself, the Inquisitor opened the door and entered. Cullen blinked in surprise – there seemed to be some kind of glow around Malcolm. As his eyes cleared, he figured that glow must have simply been the unexpected light of the sun.

He cleared his throat and rose. “Inquisitor- Malcolm. What can I do for you?”

“A group of us are going on a supply run. I figured I’d stop in and see if there was anything that you felt the soldiers in particular needed.”

“It uh... It will depend on where you’re going. I presume you’re making another jaunt to the Hinterlands?” It was a fair assumption – Malcolm and the others had been to the Hinterlands of Redcliffe several times even before they’d been attacked at Haven. They knew the terrain and probable locations of resources, and some flag waving never hurt anyone. 

Malcolm nodded. “That’s right. Things seem quiet enough for now, though I know better than to expect them to remain that way for long. We might as well take advantage of this lull. We’ll try not to be gone for too long, but Iron Bull seems almost itching for something to kill, and who am I to disappoint him?” he chuckled. 

The statement was innocent, Cullen knew, but he still had an odd pang of jealousy at the statement. He didn’t know where it came from, though he decided it must be because of the fact that Malcolm and the others were getting a chance to go out and do something, have a chance to physically go and fight something, rather than the proxy fighting that he had to endure as the military commander, rather than a soldier. 

Quickly, Cullen wrote up a list of some materials he knew to be in the Hinterlands that Malcolm could bring back, mostly iron and drakestone. Still, as Malcolm left the room, he found himself grappling with that jealous thought.

***

It took about a week for Malcolm to return. In that time, Cullen found himself thinking predominantly of Malcolm. He knew the Inquisitor was more than capable of taking care of himself, even without the aid of those who accompanied him. Yet he still found himself worried. 

When the Inquisitor and his companions returned, it was with quite the tale to tell. 

Before Cullen had even learned of Malcolm’s return, he’d heard word of what had happened, and he found himself seeking out Leliana, knowing the spymaster would likely be able to tell him the truth.

“Leliana, is it true what I’ve heard? The Inquisitor has fought and slain a high dragon?” The idea was difficult to get his mind around.

She smirked. “According to reports from my agents, it’s true. They’ve secured the remains of something that, if it is not a high dragon, then I worry as to what it might be instead. Interested draconologists are already beseeching us for the opportunity to study the remains. I was actually hoping you might send in some troops to bring them back here, where we can contain them until the Inquisitor decides what to do with them, rather than leaving them in the open where the ‘common rabble’ will be able to do as they please.” She grinned at the statement, quoting some report or another with her use of the phrase ‘common rabble.’

Even though it wasn’t something utterly unbelievable – the Archdemon slain by the Hero of Ferelden had been a dragon, with rumors that they had dealt with another outside the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and perhaps even a third in the Kocari Wilds, and Cullen knew for a fact that Hawke had slain one in the Bone Pit outside of Kirkwall, given Varric’s retelling of the adventure - Cullen still found the fact that Malcolm had been in a fight with a high dragon a worrying thought. He could have been killed all too easily and left him... left the Inquisition with no one to lead it. The Inquisition needed him. 

At least, that was what he found himself trying to convince himself of as he stood on the ramparts of Skyhold, waiting to see Malcolm and his party returning. Yet there was something else, poking around in the back of his mind. Of course he was concerned for Malcolm, worried about him having gone up against an opponent capable of killing him in multiple ways. There was no one else who bore the Anchor who could lead them, who could seal the rifts. 

Malcolm Trevalyen was most certainly one of a kind.

Finally, after a good hour of concerned pacing on Cullen’s part, around midday, he spotted the horns of Iron Bull coming towards the fortress. It was difficult to tell for sure, but it looked like the qunari mercenary was almost bouncing. As the others came into view, they appeared significantly less enthused. Malcolm was leaning against his staff for support, a makeshift bandage wrapped around an arm. Cassandra was clutching her side and holding a leg stiffly, and, as she became clearer to Cullen’s observation, she was shooting a glare at Bull. Varric, who disliked any road that had a vertical incline on a good day, was scowling, and he was regretfully clutching a jacket, which appeared to be a lost cause for even the finest of seamstresses. 

Despite a feeling of concern for them all, Cullen’s sight gravitated to Malcolm, even as he knew he should head down the stairwell to greet them at the gate. He witnessed Malcolm lose, but swiftly regain, his balance on a particularly slippery patch. Cullen reminded himself to have the walkway reexamined to deal with any of those spots. The sight of Malcolm’s stumble spurred him to head down to the gate, indicating to the soldier manning it to pull it up.

The Inquisitor and his party looked relieved at the sight of the gate going up before they’d reached it, giving them a bit of a second wind as they neared it. Cullen stood, awaiting them.

“Malcolm,” he said with relief. A moment passed and he recognized the undue familiarity. “Erhm, Inquisitor. Word has already reached us of your encounter with a dragon in the Hinterlands,” he reported. 

“You should have been there, Cullen!” Iron Bull exclaimed, sounding like he couldn’t have held in some kind of happy whoop at the thought of facing and defeating a dragon any longer. He laughed, earning him a trio of scowls from his companions, who had been dealing with this the whole way back.

“Indeed,” Cassandra acknowledged as she looked away from Bull, still looking cross with the course of events, sounding like she would have liked Cullen there for a different reason than Bull did. “I would have appreciated an additional sword. Or fifty,” she said. With that, she began to limp her way towards the infirmary. 

“At least that could have kept the blighted dragonlings busy,” Varric murmured. With a sigh, he let the jacket in his hands fall to the ground, giving up on it. “If anyone needs me, don’t.” He trudged off to the tavern.

The attitude of his companions seemed to not even faze Bull in the slightest, earning the departing figures a dismissive wave from him. “Ah, you guys need to lighten up. Where’s Krem? HE’LL enjoy hearing about this!” With that, Bull headed off to wherever the Chargers hid themselves when they weren’t out on business for the Inquisition.

That left Malcolm and Cullen in the open field inside the fortress. Malcolm sighed. “I can’t say it wasn’t as exhilarating as Bull makes it out to be, but right now, I need to rest. I can celebrate my victory later, when I’m not still trying to recover from second degree burns.”

“Do you need a healer?” Cullen asked, reaching out to the Inquisitor and letting him lean on him, rather than his staff.

Malcolm gave Cullen a thankful look at the kindness. “I can manage. It’s not my specialty, but we all learn some basic healing spells at the Circle. It’s just that if you don’t specialize in them, they tend to require a lot more concentration. It’s hard to focus on it when you’re on the move and hoping not to get ambushed by red templars.”

“I can imagine,” Cullen said as he helped Malcolm ascend the stairs into the main hall. “There is a matter regarding the dragon’s remains that you may want to look at, when you have an... Are you certain you’ll be fine?” He couldn’t help but be concerned as he saw the way Malcolm was moving, noticing his limp grow more pronounced as he neared the stairwell to his quarters.

Malcolm winced. “I... I just need some sleep, on top of trying to patch myself up.” He opened the door to his room, then cringed at the sight of the winding staircase up to the comfort of his bed. “And of all the times for there not to be any spells regarding levitation on hand...”

Closing the door to the main hall, Cullen make a decision without even thinking about it, and scooped the Inquisitor into his arms. It would still be a fairly long walk, but at least this wouldn’t run the risk of Malcolm exerting himself enough to completely take himself out of commission. After all, Cullen wasn’t the one making the climb after fighting a high dragon and traveling back to Skyhold. He could manage climbing a flight of stairs while carrying a grown man.

Still, Malcolm yelped in surprise at the act before he recognized what Cullen was doing. At that point, he chuckled. “Commander, you’re very forward,” he said with a cheeky grin.

That made Cullen blush. “That’s... My intention was simply to... help you to your bed.” As he said it, he recognized the innuendo, and his blush deepened. “That, uh... that is to say...” He couldn’t think of any way to say what he meant without it sounding as some kind of clumsy attempt at flirtation.

And, he began to realize, he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t making a clumsy attempt at flirtation. The thought did nothing for his blush.

After a moment, Malcolm took pity on him. “Relax, Cullen. I was... joking. I’m not used to needing help like this. The jokes just... help me feel better about it.”

It sounded flimsy, like he was saying it for Cullen’s benefit. Still, Cullen appreciated the effort. He got them up the stairwell to the Inquisitor’s bedroom. Gently, he set Malcolm down, allowing him to limp to his bed. “I... I should return to my duties,” Cullen said. Yet he felt an urge, a desire to linger, to make sure that Malcolm would be all right.

Malcolm looked to him with a smile. “Of course. Thank you for your assistance, Cullen. I appreciate your concern.”

“You’re welcome, Malcolm.” The only reason Cullen turned and retreated down the stairs at that point was because of the increasing blush.

***

The sun had been set for hours, and still Cullen was awake. He couldn’t shake the thought that something could have happened to Malcolm, and then where would he... where would the Inquisition be... without him?

Cullen stepped out into the night air. There was a gentle breeze in the air this night, and he found it a slight balm to his mounting frustration with himself. This focus on the Inquisitor... on Malcolm... It wasn’t right. He knew that it was wrong. He was the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. He needed to keep his time and focus and attention on that, rather than allow himself the... distraction of a...

As Cullen realized that his thoughts seemed to continually return to the prospect of... something with Malcolm, that remaining shred of reason and rationality told him that he should resign, that his attention was not what it should be for the Inquisition and its military. 

That was how he came to be ascending the stairs to Malcolm’s quarters for the second time that day. He knew Malcolm should be asleep, or focusing on healing his injuries, yet he needed to do this immediately, lest he lose his resolve.

He debated knocking on the door, but remembered how off-balance Malcolm had been on the stairs earlier. So he opened the door and made his way up the final staircase. “Mal- Inquisitor. I apologize for not knocking but-” Cullen cut himself off as he saw Malcolm sitting by the desk in the corner, his shirt off as he attended to a few puffy pink patches of skin, what appeared to be the last few remnants of his injuries. 

Cullen’s brain couldn’t seem to process anything as he got sight of the half-naked Inquisitor. He tried, struggling to remember even what it had been that had brought him here...

“Cullen?”

Malcolm’s voice broke something for Cullen, and he surged towards the mage, crushing himself against him, pressing their lips together in a fiery kiss. The act was like a release for Cullen, and he realized that he’d been wanting this for too long. The roughness of Malcolm’s stubble was unfamiliar, but pleasant.

Right as his mind snapped back to himself, making him realize just what he’d done and start to pull away, he realized that Malcolm had wrapped his arms around him. Instead of violently pulling back and apologizing profusely, he held the kiss until Malcolm pulled away. 

Malcolm gave him a gentle smile. “It took you long enough for that, Cullen,” he said, gently teasing him.

Cullen wanted to pause, to apologize for the forwardness of his action... But all he could think about was that he had far too much clothing on. Malcolm as well, though he at least had something already off with his shirt... wherever it was. Cullen swiftly began trying to shuck off his clothing. He tossed them all aside, not caring if any of them were to fall off the balcony into Skyhold’s garden or even into the mountain range.

It seemed that Malcolm was equally on board with his intention, as he dropped his trousers to the floor as well. Cullen stared at the tanned and toned form of the Inquisitor as he took in labored breaths, struggling to control his desire. He certainly had no lack of familiarity with the naked form of other men. The templar barracks at both Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall’s Gallows had often had the other templars out of their armor and small clothes. Any aversion to nudity had swiftly gone the way of griffons.

Still, it was quite different, seeing that he knew that Malcolm’s nudity was for him alone.

Cullen all but leapt at Malcolm, the two of them falling onto Malcolm’s bed. He wanted to touch, to kiss, to feel every inch of Malcolm’s body, and he could feel, as Malcolm’s hands and lips roamed his body as well, that his lover felt the same. 

He felt an unfamiliar hand wrap around his cock and his breath hitched in his throat. Malcolm glanced to him, making sure that Cullen was comfortable with what he was doing. Cullen’s response was to smile and kiss Malcolm again. Everything about this was better than he could have dreamed. The Maker’s embrace surely had to feel like this. On second thought, he’d sooner spend eternity in Malcolm’s embrace.

Then, Malcolm gently shoved him so that he lay flat on his back and slowly, torturously, began to make his way down Cullen’s body, kissing, nipping, nibbling at the exposed flesh before him. Cullen could scarcely breathe, even the slightest touch from Malcolm igniting new sensations of pleasure. 

And then he felt a warm wetness around his cock. Cullen threw his head back in ecstasy, losing himself in the pleasure. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, not with the way he was feeling. Yet what he wanted more than anything was for this moment, this feeling to never end.

As he felt himself nearing the edge, he looked to Malcolm, trying to warn him. What came out were a handful of strangled vowel sounds, but it was apparently enough for Malcolm to understand. He pulled off just in time as Cullen spilled out. Cullen panted heavily, still lost in the heady haze of sex. Malcolm’s mouth soon refastened itself to Cullen’s own lips. 

Coming down from the orgasmic high, Cullen felt Malcolm’s own hardness poking at him. He pulled back slightly. He made a motion towards Malcolm’s cock – ‘can I?’ Malcolm nodded his agreement and Cullen’s hand wrapped around his lover’s length. Knowing how he enjoyed to be touched, Cullen applied the same gentle firmness to Malcolm. By the way that Malcolm’s breathing sped up, Cullen figured he was doing a good job.

Moments later, Malcolm reached his peak as well and came with a cry. All that was in Cullen’s mind was how beautiful Malcolm looked. Malcolm slumped forward, spent. Cullen’s nose tickled at the dark hairs rubbing against it, and he inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent of his lover.

Malcolm rolled off of him, his previously missing shirt in hand, using it to clean them both up. When he finished, he tossed the shirt aside. That out of the way, he looked to Cullen, concern in his eyes. “You know, that was not what I expected when I saw you walking up those stairs,” he said.

“It... wasn’t what I expected either,” Cullen nodded, finding himself breaking into a gentle laugh. 

That got Malcolm to look him directly in the eyes. “Does that mean that you... regret it?” He was instantly on edge, as if he expected this moment to be snatched away from him.

Although Cullen was still in the rush of emotions from their love-making, he recognized the fear in Malcolm’s voice, understanding that Malcolm harbored feelings for him that could easily run deeper than he’d let on. 

“I don’t regret it at all,” he said, smiling. Malcolm broke into a wide smile himself and dove for another kiss with Cullen, who wrapped his arms around the mage. Around his lover.

The Maker would have to go a long way to provide him with a better place to spend eternity.


	2. Chapter 2

Malcolm Trevalyen had been walking through Skyhold’s corridors with a spring in his step for a good week. Even with the plans for storming Adamant Fortress constantly on everyone’s mind, the fact that he and Cullen had spent their evenings together for the last seven days kept him buoyant and even cheerful. 

“My dear, you really must become more adept at concealing your emotions,” Vivienne offered, though the admonishment was delivered with a soft look in her eyes, implying that it was more teasing than it was rebuke.

“Surely the Inquisitor being happy is good for morale,” he countered, willing to return her teasing. 

“Excessive cheer can be seen as the mark of a fool, my dear. We wouldn’t want such a belief of you to spread, now would we?”

“Perish the thought,” he said, doing a fair imitation of her accent. He made his way from her balcony towards the library, intending to ask Leliana for an update on the movements of Erimond’s Wardens. 

However, he paused in the doorway as he saw Dorian speaking with Cullen. Presumably, Dorian was inviting the Commander to yet another game of chess. Malcolm smiled at the sight, knowing how futile Dorian’s efforts at beating Cullen seemed to be. Dorian had yet to win against him, and it wasn’t likely that whatever new strategy he’d devised could change that. 

“Dorian, are you distracting our Commander from his duties?” Malcolm asked as he approached the two.

Dorian scoffed. “Oh, I hardly think of it as ‘distracting.’”

Cullen smirked slightly, quirking an eyebrow. “Perhaps ‘wasting time’ serves as a better term?” he asked teasingly. “Your tactics are hardly inspired, after all.” Dorian’s scandalized look was probably only mostly exaggerated. Cullen looked to Malcolm. “Inquisitor. Might I have a word with you? At... your convenience, of course.”

“Of course,” Malcolm replied. With that, Cullen made his way down the stairwell to return to his tower. 

Once Cullen was gone, Dorian shook his head at the Inquisitor. “You know, you don’t need to be so secretive about it,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dorian.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Dorian said, in a voice that said just the opposite. “But you should know that, at the very least those of us who matter don’t care about the Inquisitor and the Commander are working together quite so... intimately.” There was a hint of mischief in his description of things.

However, Malcolm continued to play the fool. “I really don’t know what you’re referring to, Dorian.” With that, he turned to get the report he’d intended to get from Leliana. And making a mental note to remind Cullen that they should probably work on discretion.

***

‘Discretion’ went out the door pretty much the moment that Malcolm, Cassandra, Cole, and Solas fell into, then back out of, the Fade. Not long after Malcolm conscripted the Wardens into the Inquisition and Hawke had chosen to journey to Weisshaupt, Cullen pushed his way through the assorted soldiers and remaining Wardens to meet the Inquisitor. 

Malcolm pulled him into a kiss right there, in front of everyone. Cullen didn’t resist, even wrapping one of his arms around the Inquisitor.

They and their mount were given a good amount of space as the Inquisition’s forces made their way back to Skyhold. 

“I saw you fall into the Fade. I was... so worried for you,” Cullen said in a hushed voice, though there wasn’t much chance of being overheard at this point. “I was...” He laughed at himself, apparently now, with Malcolm’s arms wrapped around him, able to consider his actions the kind of thing that had their humor. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

Malcolm smiled against the back of Cullen’s neck. “You’re at no risk of that, Cullen. I promise that.” Though Malcolm was exhausted, he was struggling to remain awake, having little desire to return to the Fade, even if it was only in a dream. He knew that leaning against Cullen like he was ran the risk of encouraging him to sleep, returning to the Fade in his dreams and seeing the Nightmare once more, but he also wanted to be as close as he could to the man he considered his lover. Even if he was avoiding the word just yet. If that put him at risk of falling asleep, he let himself be comforted by the thought that Cullen would be there when he woke up.

***

Instead of having Cullen walk him up to his quarters as he had before, Malcolm willingly let Cullen pull him towards his tower.

“There are still almost as many stairs to reach my bed as yours, you realize,” he pointed out as he and Cullen walked side by side to the tower. Just because Malcolm wasn’t interested in complaining on the count of where they were going didn’t mean he was going to let it pass without some teasing. He hadn’t even gotten to pointing out that getting to Cullen’s bed involved a ladder.

Though Cullen seemed equally willing to tease. “Maybe so, but it doesn’t seem as far. Besides...” This led him to grin suggestively. “I think we’re past the point of secrecy.”

“True enough,” Malcolm said, returning the grin. And the ladder would give him a not-unappealing view of his lover. Assuming, of course, they made it to the ladder and the bed. After all, they already knew that his desk was particularly sturdy. 

The moment they were through the door, Cullen had pulled Malcolm close, kissing him like mad. He cupped Malcolm’s face in his hands, an act at odds with the slam against the door they’d just come through. Malcolm was just pleased he’d had a chance to store his armor before Cullen had pulled him away. Dealing with all the buckles on his preferred armor would have been a pain. Though there were still the various ties holding Cullen’s armor together, as he hadn’t thought to remove it and wear something easier to disrobe.

“You realize,” Malcolm began between kisses, “that this armor you wear is... very awkward to get off.”

Cullen smiled as he started to help Malcolm in his efforts to remove his armor. “I take it you would prefer me to travel through Skyhold in my small clothes?”

“Now there’s an idea...” Malcolm grinned as he finally managed to expose Cullen’s chest. He ran his hands up the toned body of his lover. “Perhaps not even that...”

Before Cullen could respond to that idea, there was a sharp, derisive bark of laughter. “This is so much more than I ever could have expected!” Both Malcolm and Cullen turned to see a woman in mage robes in the far corner, seeming quite pleased with herself.

“These are my private chambers...!” Cullen started.

“What are you doing here?!” Malcolm demanded simultaneously.

The woman’s laughter came to an end as she turned a very hostile glare upon both of them, though it appeared that Cullen was the greater object of her disdain. “Couldn’t even be bothered to remember the names and faces of those under your ‘care,’ Knight-Captain?”

The use of his templar title knocked loose a memory, a face glimpsed in passing. “You... were at the Kirkwall Circle,” he said, still confused. Where she knew him from didn’t explain what she was doing here. 

“Oh yes. The Kirkwall Circle, where you and your kind treated us mages like dirt. We were the disease you wanted to eradicate. When the Inquisition brought us in and I learned YOU led the armies-” Her face contorted with rage at the acknowledgement of Cullen’s role within the Inquisition. “-I knew the Maker had granted me the opportunity.”

Malcolm greatly wanted to do something about the intruder, knowing that Cullen’s sword was out of his reach, closer to the mage woman than to him. But he held back, seeing that Cullen wasn’t just throwing her out for the intrusion. She had something in mind.

“What kind of ‘opportunity’?” he asked, not trusting that this wasn’t going to turn violent.

She gave a dark smile. “Why to see the Knight-Commander learn the pain that he and his Order caused our kind.” She returned her attention to Cullen. “You were the one who learned of my love’s kindness to mages. His desire to help make things better for us, in even the slightest. You told Meredith about him, and she had him sent away. You denied me the ability to be with my love. So I decided to return the favor.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed, but he still smirked slightly, doubting her ability to make good on the threat. “If you think that you can do something to the Inquisitor, I think he’d welcome the opportunity.” Malcolm allows a brief flash of his magical ability as emphasis.

But the mage just giggled, soundly like her grip on sanity was slipping, as if that hadn’t already been apparent. “Oh no. I am doing nothing to the Inquisitor. I had already done what I’d wished. I had a very special potion mixed up for you, Knight-Captain. Slipped to you not that long ago with one of your meals.”

The statement took a moment to sink in for Cullen, but when he did, confusion briefly replaced anger on his face. “A potion?” 

It took another few moments for Malcolm to catch up to the implications, and when he did, he look almost physically struck. “A potion? A... love potion? That’s not possible!”

“Oh, anything is possible if you’re determined enough. Especially if you’re familiar with the proper blood magic rituals. And, after Haven, you both left plenty of blood lying around. It was all so very simple. I only intended to have the Knight-Captain be in love with you, unable to do anything or come closer than he was, know the pain of loving from afar, as I have been forced to since he stole my love away. But then you... You allowed me the greater joy.” She pulled out a vial from her robes. “No lesson is learned in your joy, Knight-Captain. But to have love, only for it to be taken from you... That pain is a strong teacher.”

“What pain?” Cullen asked, too taken aback at the idea of having been slipped a love potion to react like he knew he should and even attempt to stop her.

Holding the vial up, she grinned, the madness now openly expressed. “This holds the reversal of the potion I gave you before. This will remove the first potion’s effects. You will have lost your love, because that emotion shall be ripped away from you. Perhaps not quite as poetic as I desired, but more than worth the effort, I think.”

“You’re insane,” Cullen said.

“I am what I have been made, Knight-Captain.” She started towards Cullen, who found himself held in place magically. She had her attention focused on him. 

That did, however, mean that she’d effectively forgotten about Malcolm.

It was a common – and mistaken – belief that mages needed their staves to cast spells. How the belief spread was anyone’s guess, given that magic manifested in children far from the Circle and without access to any kind of staff, but magic was innate to the mage, not to their tools. It allowed them to focus their abilities and draw upon more magic more frequently. But even the weakest of mages were able to cast spells without any additional focusing aid. To forget this often ended up being a dangerous mistake.

It seemed that this mage woman had made that mistake in regards to the Inquisitor, as she soon found herself hurled through the door of Cullen’s tower. The disturbance drew the attention of a contingent of guards, the regular rampart patrol. They pieced together enough of what they needed of the situation in seeing Malcolm standing in the doorway, the mage woman dazed at his feet and the door in splinters.

Fortunately, they could put together enough of the pertinent facts and seized the woman. Their leader looked to the Inquisitor. “Inquisitor?” 

Malcolm took a moment to get his emotions under control – he wanted to throw her off Skyhold’s highest point. But he knew that would resolve nothing. “Take her to the dungeons. And make sure that whoever is guarding her has templar training. This woman is a mage.”

“Yes, ser!” As the guards made to take her away, Malcolm saw that the vial of counter-potion had remained intact. He picked it up and waited for the guards to get her out of his sight before he returned to Cullen.

He’d managed to slip his shirt back on, the mood pretty much dead by this point. “Malcolm...” he started, then stopped. What could he say? 

Malcolm set the vial on Cullen’s desk, then leaned against it, unable to bring himself to look at Cullen. “You... you should drink that.”

“What? You don’t think that it’s poisoned?” Cullen asked, trying, vainly, to inject some humor into things.

As far as Malcolm was concerned, it might as well be. It would have the same effect for him. “You heard her, Cullen. What you’re feeling... It’s the effects of a love potion.” 

Cullen scoffed at the thought. “Love potion... There’s no such thing!” he countered. “If such a thing were possible, wouldn’t their use be widespread?” The only places he’d ever heard of such things being used were in novels, books of ‘smutty literature’ that could make Varric blush.

But Malcolm wasn’t as convinced. “She said she used blood magic. We know that rituals like that can... have a changing effect, can take away the ability to choose.” Malcolm shuddered at the reminder of what Dorian’s father had wanted to do, what could have been done to him had he had the misfortune of being born in Tevinter instead of the Free Marches. “And if she communed with a demon, one of desire maybe, in the process... Can you truly say it’s that farfetched?”

It seemed that Cullen couldn’t argue that, as he kept his silence for a moment. But then he reached out to Malcolm, a hand on his shoulder. “And if it was a love potion... So what? Malcolm... I love-”

“Please don’t, Cullen. Please.” It was a plea. Malcolm was barely holding it together, but he struggled to keep his emotions in check all the same. “I don’t want something that’s founded on a lie. And while it may not have been either of us lying... It would still be a lie. What you feel... It’s not because of you. It’s her magic.” He picked the vial back up and held it out for Cullen. “Please, Cullen. Just... Please.” 

For a moment, he thought that Cullen would argue with him. And he didn’t know if he would have it in him to argue further. He loved Cullen, and giving him up would be the hardest thing he could have imagined. But, to a combination of Malcolm’s relief and regret, Cullen reluctantly took the vial from Malcolm, uncorking it.

“Malcolm... I...”

“I know, Cullen.” He couldn’t bear to hear any apology right now, and he did know what Cullen wanted to say right now. It wouldn’t help. 

Cullen raised the vial to his lips and downed the potion. Malcolm waited until he’d swallowed it all, then, with a heavy heart, turned and walked away.

The sound of the vial being violently thrown aside and shattering brought him no comfort, but he hadn’t expected any to come.

***

Judging Erimond’s crimes had not exactly been easy, but they’d been simple – he’d walked into Skyhold’s throne room expecting to sentence Erimond to death. The moment Erimond had spoken of glories coming to him in the next life, he’d decided a life sentence was the more fitting punishment.

When Josephine made mention of one further matter to attend to, however, he knew immediately what she meant.

Judging the mage woman, who, according to Josephine was named Sadira, was the most difficult judgment that he’d ruled since accepting the role of Inquisitor. He wanted to kill her. A dark and perverse part of him wanted to perform the Rite of Tranquility on her, even coming up with a justification of it through what he and Cassandra had learned from Seeker Lambert about reversing the Rite and how reversing it on mages gave them no control of their emotions. He could easily find enough justice in her being experimented on and toyed with like she had done with Cullen to be able to sleep at night.

But he chose against either of those options. They were satisfying, but he’d committed the Inquisition to justice and order for others. The Inquisition had to protect and serve the people, not the whims and desires of its leaders. With that in mind, he felt he could do nothing but chose to condemn her to a life in prison. When Corypheus was dealt with, she would be taken to the Aeonar, the Chantry’s prison for blood mages and maleficars who weren’t executed or made Tranquil. 

It didn’t feel like enough, but it would do for now.

After Sadira was taken away, Josephine looked to him. “I do not know if I could be as merciful, had I been in your place,” she said.

“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “I wanted her dead. I still do. But this-” He motioned to the throne he sat on. “-calls for me to be able to think beyond myself. As difficult as it can be.”

She nodded. “True. Though in this instance, I don’t see how you could be blamed.” She lingered a moment, as if considering saying something more. “Inquisitor... If there is anything-”

“Thank you, Josephine. But... I’ll make do.” He appreciated the thought, but pity and sympathy were the last things he felt capable of dealing with right now. He wanted a stiff drink, but that would involve going to the tavern, and that meant being around other people. That was definitely not what he could handle right now.

As he started for the stairwell, he looked out across the hall. He caught sight of Cullen, hovering near the door. For a moment, their eyes met. Then Malcolm turned away, not able to bear the harsh reminder of reality.


	3. Chapter 3

Meetings of the War Council were awkward for several days after everything. Malcolm and Cullen avoided eye contact, and weren’t speaking beyond professional reasons. Malcolm was doing what he could to keep it that way. He didn’t want to deal with the emotions that just seeing him brought up, but he also couldn’t just send the Commander of the Inquisition’s armies away. If nothing else, there was absolutely no one else with the experience necessary.

And then he overheard the argument between Cullen and Cassandra. As Cullen stormed away from her, Malcolm approached the Seeker. “What was that about?” he asked, though he had to admit, part of him was telling him that he needed to keep his distance. 

Cassandra sighed. “I assume that you are aware that Cullen has stopped taking lyrium?”

“Yes. I think it’s quite brave of him,” Malcolm said, truthfully. Cullen had confessed that he intended to stop taking lyrium a few days before he’d fallen under Sadira’s magic. He’d thought it quite noble, and probably for the best. The lyrium wasn’t necessary for the templars, not the way that the Chantry did it. 

Cassandra nodded. “I agree. He asked me to monitor him, be capable of relieving him in the event that he is unable to perform his duties. Unfortunately, the Commander believes that his judgment is now impaired. He wants me to find a replacement for the Inquisition’s forces. I told him that it wasn’t necessary, that he is doing an admirable job. He disagrees, saying that his capabilities are diminished.” She looked uncomfortable as something came to mind. “I believe he may see the effects the mage woman had on him as a personal failing as well.” 

That, Malcolm could believe all too easily. “He shouldn’t. We were both... blind-sided by her.”

“So I told him. Again, he disagrees.” She sighed. “Perhaps you could speak to him?” Before Malcolm could bring up what a bad idea he thought that was, she continued. “I would not ask if I did not think it would help. I’ve done what I can. He needs to hear it from someone else.” 

She had a point. If Cassandra had not been able to convince him, it had to fall to someone else. And she was probably one of the closest people to Cullen in Skyhold, next to Malcolm. 

Giving him a pitying look, Cassandra reached out to Malcolm, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know it is much to ask of you. But if anyone can reach out to Cullen, pull him back from this precipice he is standing on, I believe it is you.”

Malcolm knew that she was right. It didn’t make it easier, but he nodded. “I’ll speak to him. But Cassandra... If I can’t convince him...” He didn’t know where he was going with that statement, just knowing that, as awkward as he found it to be around Cullen right now, the Inquisition still needed its military commander.

“I pray you can, Inquisitor,” was all Cassandra had to offer.

With more than a little reluctance, Malcolm made his way to Cullen’s tower. He gently rapped on the door, but got no response. He reluctantly opened the door, right as a vial of lyrium flew towards him, managing to just narrowly avoid being struck by it or the various shards as it exploded.

“Maker’s breath! I-I didn’t hear you...!” Cullen was panicked, apparently greatly disturbed that he’d nearly struck Malcolm. Malcolm couldn’t help but be touched at his concern.

He held out a hand, trying to soothe Cullen’s fears. “I’m alright, Cullen. The advantage of fighting demons and Venatori is it hones the reflexes.” The joke was really strained, but Malcolm felt he had to make an attempt.

“It... It should not be like this. I should... be able... to handle this!” Cullen exclaimed. It was like the words themselves were a struggle, that he was forcing them out. 

Malcolm reached out, trying to place a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, but Cullen was too jittery for his hand to stay there. “Cullen. Cullen, look at me. Please.” Malcolm almost couldn’t hear himself, and was amazed that Cullen did so, but his words managed to reach Cullen. He looked to Malcolm in desperation, reaching out and clinging to him.

“Inquisitor... Malcolm. Please. You... you are real, aren’t you?” The words cut deeply for Malcolm, hearing the desperation in his voice. “This isn’t... I’m not still in the Circle, and...” Malcolm realized that he must be hallucinating, in a flashback to the rebellion in Kinloch Hold. 

“I’m here, Cullen. I’m here. Hold on to me. Come back here, to Skyhold. To the Inquisition.”

Cullen’s ragged breathing began to even out. He stayed in Malcolm’s hold, allowing himself to be grounded back to reality. Finally, he took a shuddering breath and looked to Malcolm. “I... Thank you, Inquisitor.” He pulled back and away from Malcolm, which, though Malcolm understood it, still found himself slightly pained by the act.

He looked to Cullen, who had wandered to a corner of his room. “How bad are these hallucinations?” he asked.

“I... They’re not normally quite so... vivid.” Cullen sighed, bouncing around between the shelves pressed up against the walls. He shook his head. “The lyrium withdrawal is... harder than I’d expected. It’s... It’s not always that bad.” Malcolm wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but Cullen was pulling himself together. That was the important thing, he figured. 

It seemed that Cullen was coming out of the worst of this. For that, Malcolm was grateful, though he worried that Cullen would get worse before he got better. “Is there anything that I... that anyone can do?” Malcolm wanted Cullen to say that there was, that only he could soothe his pain, but he knew better than to have any expectations of the kind. And at the moment, anything beyond friendship, Malcolm knew, would feel like he was taking advantage of Cullen, rather than trying to help him.

“No. This is... This is something I must bear on my own.” Cullen looked to Malcolm. “But this is why I have recommended that the Inquisition find someone else to lead its armies. It is clear that... I cannot do the job I was initially brought here to do.”

“That’s not true, Cullen!”

“I can’t focus. Not while I am attempting to... stop using lyrium. My ability to serve the Inquisition is compromised.” He looked to Malcolm, plaintively, as if begging him for guidance.

For the briefest of moments, Malcolm considered telling him to begin taking the lyrium again. If Cullen felt he needed the lyrium, Malcolm could almost agree with that. But Cullen had come so far without it, to go back to it now would serve to undermine all the hard work he’d put in to freeing himself from this tie, from the weight of this shackle on him.

“That’s not true, Cullen, and you know it. This is the withdrawal talking, not you.” Malcolm reached out to him, placing a hand on Cullen’s chest and sliding it up to his shoulder, using the path across the armor to slip under all the layers Cullen was under. It wasn’t as if he was revealing some deep secret in the process, after all. Cullen was well aware of Malcolm’s feelings for the Inquisition’s Commander. But he saw the way that Cullen tracked the movement, saw it as a way to ground Cullen, in knowing that someone cared about him. Not the soldier, but the man.

For a moment, Cullen was quiet. “I don’t know if I can do this, Malcolm,” he said softly. “I told myself that the lyrium wasn’t something I needed, but... I can’t think right now. Not taking it is... It’s impairing my ability to serve the Inquisition. And I will not give the Inquisition less than I gave the Chantry.” There was a determination in his words that Malcolm knew meant that something of what he’d said had struck a chord. There was a light through this. He just had to get Cullen to follow it.

“No one is asking for you to. I am asking that you do what you can to take care of yourself. The Inquisition does not need you to make a martyr of yourself. You can ask for help. We’ll provide it without question. We’re your friends.” Not that Malcolm didn’t want more, but even if he were to push, it certainly wouldn’t be now. He wasn’t about to try and take advantage of Cullen. 

His words seemed to be what Cullen needed. He took a deep breath, the act seeming to center him. “You’re right, of course. I’m... I’m letting the withdrawal, the lyrium, get the better of me.” He smiled at Malcolm, a smile that, as grateful as he was to see it, still cut him. Then he stepped away. “I... I’ll speak with Cassandra, let her know that she need not seek a new Commander.”

“Good,” Malcolm said with a nod, attempting to keep himself from letting the fact that he himself was only just keeping together at this point, having seen Cullen so broken, to himself. If ever there was a time for Cullen to focus on himself, it was now, which meant that he shouldn’t have to deal with the Inquisitor falling apart because he loved a man who didn’t return his feelings. 

Trying to make an exit, Malcolm saw the flask full of lyrium on Cullen’s desk. He looked back to Cullen. “Perhaps I should... take that.” He knew the mages would be more than willing to have some additional lyrium on hand, even in such small quantities. Every little bit helped, especially when they were still attempting to train the younger mages, the ones who’d had no where to go but along with the elders of the fraternities.

Cullen looked to the flask of lyrium and nodded. “Please. I... I don’t know why I kept it this long anyway. Perhaps as some kind of... security, that if I slipped, I would... have some on hand.” He laughed, more at himself than anything else. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

“It’s understandable. But even if it were a safety net, you have a better one in place now,” Malcolm said, gently taking the lyrium and pocketing it.

That got a gentle smile to come to Cullen’s face. “I suppose I do at that. Thank you, Malcolm.”

Malcolm attempted to not let the way he said that take him back to that brief period of happiness between them, when that same tone of voice was a way to whisper things that now would never be said again. 

He could almost imagine why some mages sought out the Rite of Tranquility. This pain was difficult to bear, and he wished he didn’t have to.


	4. Chapter 4

The last place Cullen wanted to be was in the Winter Palace of Halamshiral. The decadence of the Orlesian court, the ludicrous nature of ‘the Game,’ the simple fact that there was a war on and they would rather throw a ball than waste time on such frivolous things as resolving the conflict... If it wouldn’t play right into Corypheus’s hands, Cullen would have suggested that they just let Celene die, potentially with the whole of the Court, if only to allow more rational minds to take charge of the nation, perhaps fight the real threat, rather than killing your own soldiers because of the banner they want to march under. Madame Vivienne might be in her element amongst the nobility of Orlais, and was likely helping to secure the Inquisition, and herself, new alliances, but Cullen was just disdainful of the whole practice.

The persistent jockeying for position began to get under Cullen’s skin, particularly since fending off unwelcome advances from various suitors (ones he knew would have displayed significantly less attention towards him were he still a templar) was a distraction as he attempted to watch out for the appearance of assassins. He doubted any of the assembled would be so brazen as to use the Harlequins, the Orlesian elite bodyguards, to kill Celene, though he’d be more than willing to be proven wrong. At least then they’d know where the threat was coming from.

He wished he could slip away from the ballroom, but given the threat they were possibly here to prevent (Leliana’s suggestion to allow Celene to die had probably struck a chord with Malcolm, beyond just how the Inquisitor had a responsibility to consider every possibility, even if he didn’t go along with all of them), he, Leliana, and Josephine were all attempting to keep eyes on all the major players here, which meant Celene, Gaspard, and Briala all had to have someone watching them. 

Still, he seemed to have managed to carve out a small corner and, for the time being, no one was attempting to speak about Adamant or Kirkwall or make small talk or even the unwanted affections of the court hangers-on. He was enjoying the quiet, if not the evening. The night would soon be over, one way or another.

There was a sudden rush of air. Cullen glanced to the side and saw that Cole was standing beside him. The... boy, for lack of a better term, had accompanied them out to the Palace, though the Court didn’t seem to notice him, even with whatever Malcolm, Solas, and Varric had done that had dampened his powers. 

“Enjoying the party?” Cullen asked, trying to be cordial, knowing that, despite all the Chantry spoke of demons, Cole had been accepted as a person by the Inquisitor, and, for all the concerns, Cole seemed to have made to live up to that.

“He’s hiding, hurting. He thinks of what he can’t have, and it makes him ache. But he won’t let me help him. He keeps the pain close.”

Cullen had to take a minute to parse Cole’s response. Cullen had noticed Cole had a somewhat frustrating tendency to answer the questions that weren’t asked and speaking of secrets he had no business knowing. This particular secret didn’t sound like one that Cullen was supposed to have heard. He wanted to tell Cole that this was something that he shouldn’t hear... And then he realized just whose secret it was that he was telling. 

He hadn’t realized how much this had affected Malcolm. He’d been busy with the military matters of the Inquisition, and then his struggles with lyrium. He hadn’t given much thought to what Malcolm had been going through. 

And he should have.

The thought was quick, but Cullen couldn’t deny it. What they’d been through, what had been done to them both... It wasn’t as if there were others who’d gone through it. He didn’t know how Malcolm was taking it, though if Cole’s words were an indication, ‘poorly’ seemed appropriate. Managing, hiding the pain... That couldn’t be something done so casually, Cullen believed.

Still, Cullen knew that hearing this from Cole instead of Malcolm was a breach of Malcolm’s privacy. “Cole, I believe the Inquisitor has spoken with you about revealing someone’s private thoughts to others.” Not that he didn’t understand where the sharing was coming from, but it was still wrong.

Cole looked to him in slight confusion. “But you already know this. You have the same pain, the same hurt. Your pain mirrors his. It’s caused by the same thing.” A beat. “I was trying to help.”

“I’m not saying that you’re not, but...” Cullen trailed off, unsure how best to put this. The pep talks to the spirit-demon-child were more the realm of Malcolm or Solas, and he didn’t know how to approach the topic.

In the time it took him to try and word this correctly, Cole had vanished. Cullen didn’t know if that meant that Malcolm needed him elsewhere or that Cole had just wandered off, but it set him on guard, ready for someone among the assembled to make a move. Not for the first time tonight, he resented the fact that he had neither troops nor a sword available to him. If something came up, he was going to have to resort to the dagger he had kept up his sleeve. Though he was certain that Leliana likely had secreted additional weapons, he sadly had far less familiarity with such subterfuge. He preferred a direct approach.

Keeping vigilant, he saw Malcolm race into the ballroom, sending a rather furious look in the direction of Duchess Florienne. She moved on and Cullen approached the Inquisitor.

“Cullen. Florienne is the assassin.” Malcolm offered no preamble, and Cullen found he was not surprised to hear that the host of this ball was responsible. Orlesians...

“What do we do, Inquisitor?” he asked.

For a moment, Malcolm considered things. Then a smirk formed. “I’ll handle this,” he said. He tugged on the bottom of his dress attire, straightening and heading to intercept the Duchess.

The result was a verbal takedown of the Duchess and her plot that Cullen, even with his preference for swordplay over wordplay, found impressive. As the Orlesian guards took the Duchess into custody, Celene, Gaspard, Briala, and Malcolm slipped out to the balcony, speaking in hushed tones. Cullen and Cassandra both moved to act as bodyguards, keeping the court back and letting them speak. Josephine and Leliana made to keep the peace – assassination attempts might be a norm among the Orlesians, but rarely were they disarmed before any blades emerged. 

It wasn’t long before the three faction leaders returned to the ballroom. Celene, though she was doing all she could not to let it on, did not appear happy, while Gaspard was fuming. Only Briala appeared to have a glimmer of satisfaction on her face. Moments later, Celene announced that the civil war had been resolved amicably, and that Gaspard would be welcomed back to court. That set off a chorus of scandalized gasps, and Cullen wouldn’t be surprised if they’d be receiving letters at Skyhold the very next day about things.

Seeing that Malcolm had remained out on the balcony, Cullen slipped out to him. “An interesting solution,” he offered as a way to break the ice.

Malcolm smirked slightly. “Blackmail is probably the one thing that I understand about this ‘Grand Game’ of the Orlesians. And now I have an Empire in my pocket. Think I can put an end to the Game?”

“My guess would be that Josephine would be quite upset at that decision, if only because she depends on it for her efforts at diplomacy,” Cullen chuckled. He moved closer to Malcolm, who turned to lean on the railing. Cullen joined him. “If you can get past the fact that this was built on the backs of the elves, this is a rather nice view.”

Cullen didn’t know how to respond to that – it wasn’t exactly a subject that he’d spent much time focused on, though he recognized the crimes done in the name of the Chantry. He’d just only recently been able to see them as such. Before they’d been justified in acting in the Maker’s name. He sighed. “I wonder sometimes if the Maker hasn’t returned to us because we believe in causing such things in his name,” he admitted. He’d never said anything like this to anyone else or even out loud before.

“It’s a good question,” Malcolm acknowledged, his voice speaking of the long-held skepticism that he’d held through the whole of the dubbing of him as the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ Cullen knew that it was a subject he didn’t speak much of.

Rather than stay on that, he looked to Malcolm. “It occurs to me, Inquisitor, that your only dance of the evening was with a would-be assassin.” He gave a respectful bow and extended a hand. “Would you care to remedy that?”

For a moment, Malcolm stared at Cullen’s outstretched hand as if it were a mirage, an illusion. He looked back to Cullen, a refusal on his lips. But something about the way that Cullen was looking at him made him hesitate. “I... Cullen, I don’t want your pity.”

“Then don’t think of this as a pity. I don’t.” Since Malcolm hadn’t stepped away, Cullen took Malcolm’s hand. “I am not doing this out of pity or sympathy.”

It still didn’t seem to connect for Malcolm. “But... You were under a spell.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps all her potion did was made me act on feelings I already had.” This, Cullen had already been suspecting even before he’d heard Cole bare the thoughts of the Inquisitor. ‘Your pain mirrors his,’ Cole had said. The pain of having been separated from the man that he loved. “Or perhaps it was never the potion.” Love potions, as he’d said at the time, had always been the realm of Varric’s novels, not reality. 

At this point, Malcolm had allowed Cullen to wrap an arm around him. They were gently moving to the faint music from the ballroom. It seemed that Malcolm’s protests were fading as the reality of what happening began to sink in. After a minute, his confidence seemed to reappear and he began to take the lead. As the song began to conclude, Malcolm pulled closer, and leaned in for a kiss.

“Hah! I told you so! Pay up, Tiny!”

“Aw, come on, boss! You couldn’t have waited until we got back to Skyhold?”

And like that, the mood was gone. Malcolm and Cullen both couldn’t help but chuckle.

***

Although for most of the Inquisition, the focus was on the impossible peace brokered by the Inquisitor that had brought the civil war to an end without apparently favoring one or the other, amongst the Inner Circle, the joy was in the Inquisitor and Cullen having patched things up.

Varric, Bull, and Dorian all had recommended Malcolm getting drinks with them. They were resistant to the thought that, after dealing with the Orlesian Court, Malcolm needed to relax in someplace more comfortable. He’d managed to distract them long enough to slip away, finding his way back down to the lower library under Skyhold’s main hall. 

Naturally, it was Cullen who found him. “I thought you might down here.”

Malcolm chuckled. “You’d probably be the only one. I’m not even sure anyone else has seen this place.” He closed the book he had been reading and moved close to Cullen. “Not that I feel a need for constant reassurance, but...”

“Yes, Malcolm. I’m very sure that what I feel are my own feelings. Not a potion, not a spell, not some loss of sanity on either of our parts. I care for you, deeply. And I want to be with you.” Not that Cullen didn’t understand Malcolm’s desire and need for reassurance. He was willing to reassure Malcolm every day if necessary. 

For emphasis, he wrapped an arm around Malcolm, pulling him in, and kissing him. 

Cullen hadn’t realized how much he had truly missed Malcolm until he had him close once more. And he had a new desire to not let him go, either. 

To be with Malcolm, Cullen would storm the Black City itself.


End file.
